Gary is headed for Oslo for a few days and yesterday he sent me his itinerary. He is flying into Amsterdam, The Netherlands then on to Oslo, Norway. For quite some time I thought that he was staying the night in Amsterdam – getting in at 8:30pm and leaving at 10:30 the next day. I had failed to see that he was landing in Amsterdam a day later in the am – so just a 2 hour layover.
But it brought back so many memories!
Gary was giving a paper in Rotterdam in 1997 sometime and we had it all fixed up with my mother to come out to babysit Jessie, Ryan and the new baby. Things didn’t work out that way, but we still went and Mom came out to tend Jessie and Ryan.
Our plan was to go to the Netherlands while Gary needed to be there – it was some sort of meetings for 3 days or something like that. My memory of that time of my life is sketchy at best. So I was on my own. We were then flying to London to ‘vacation’ and become tourists.
I believe this was my first trip outside of North America (I had been to Mexico and Canada) and the first time I was in a country with a strange foreign language.
We flew into Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam and rode the train to The Hague where our hotel was.
In the train, Gary had taken a bathroom break and came back totally speechless and told me that I ABSOLUTELY HAD to go in the bathroom and look in the toilet. After shuddering for some time I told him that was not my thang and just … no. He promised me it was not gross – just … unexpected – and made me go.
I got up and sighed thinking the guy was out of his mind – I really didn’t care if it was shaped like a violin – I just didn’t care. Got in the bathroom, shut the door and locked it, turned around and looked down into the toilet.
I seriously could not have been more surprised if there were little elves swimming in the water and little “Toilet Fairies” hanging out on the seat. What I actually saw and to this day this is so incredible to me that I just shake my head – what I saw was a hole – and the railroad tracks ticking along as the train moved along.
Ugh!
Just … ugh!
We got to the Hague and walked around that evening and Gary asked me if I had my days mapped out. My number one thing I had wanted to do was go to Anne Frank and her families hiding place in Amsterdam, but I was a bit leery of heading back up to Amsterdam by myself. The house is located in or very near the infamous "Red Light" district in Amsterdam. I am not a prude, but I remember now that at some point we had a few minutes to walk around Amsterdam (most likely between our plane landing and our train ride - but as I said, sketchy ...) and had walked through this section of town. I was a bit reluctant to do it on my own. These days, I have travelled enough, seen enough (prostitution is not illegal most everywhere I have lived overseas or visited) that it would not even phase me to walk past the totally unclad women posing ever so provocatively (well, maybe if you were of the male species ... it seemed rather uncomfortable and weird to me) advertising their wares .... if you will - but in 1997 I was still just a babe in the woods!
The one thing I knew I was going to do was go to the Madurodam in The Hague. It is a miniature of The Netherlands and there is nothing more fascinating to me than miniatures.
I had studied the bus system and it was only a few miles from our hotel, but I decided to try the bus – I would get there faster and not have to navigate through a huge park between me and the Most Exciting Place in The Hague. The bus stop was close and I got on. As I paid for my ticket I asked the bus driver which stop I needed to get off of for The Madurodam? And he changed from “Cheery Ticket Taker” to something mean and ugly and started yelling at me in a language that I did not know.
I am a person that freaks out when someone yells at me. I grew up in a house where yelling was a foreign concept and to this day – if you yell at me – and I am much more hardened as I have been yelled at often (a lot of times in the hospital with Jessie) my brain still freezes and it is not until later that I come up with hundreds of pithy comebacks – one of these days I am sure I will be better at it – but this was a first where I had no idea what he was saying to me and why I had made him so angry other than the fact that I had spoken in English.
Not many people yelled at me in Norway - they just asked me questions in English - why didn't we have health care for everybody? Why were we at war in the Middle East? Hard questions - I think I would rather have been yelled at!
Paris was different - Ryan was taking French at the time and when I asked someone something in English - they either spoke back in French or said they did not understand English - which I am quite sure was not the case. We were trying to get drinks in a McDonald's once and the kid I was trying to order from kept talking in French with a very nasty sneer on his face.
Finally Ryan pulled my arm and said lets go. He had got enough of the conversation to know that he was telling all the other workers that the "Stupid American was going to get the wrong order what ever she did".
After that I spoke Norwegian to every Parisian I encountered. "Snakke du Norsk?" And they quickly would transfer to English and say "What? No, but I speak English." And then I would fake broken English until my son was so embarrassed he would walk off and leave me shaking his head. I would throw in a Norwegian word every now and then "med ost ... oh! unnskyld" (with cheese, oh! Excuse me). EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM was so patient with me and they were all SO KIND!
I found this so very sad - that I had resorted to this because they refused to help "Americans". But I refused to have my son see me made fun of one more time in Paris - I would rather he walk off shaking his head at my deception and antics than see the look on his face as he told me in McDonald's that we needed to leave ...
I have been yelled at a lot in small German towns in Bavaria - but my son was with me and protective Mother Bear was out when these men got angry and I was not phased - just thinking of a way to extricate me and my son with no violence involved.
By the time we hit Prague in 2007? 2008? I was pretty hardened - and discovered VERY QUICKLY that they were ALL YELLERS! It was the first time that when they started to yell at me - I just laughed, shook my head and walked off - totally unfazed ...
But this first time - this time in The Netherlands just devastated me.
I quickly took a seat, with tears in my eyes and decided to just get off in a few stops and start to wander, or go back to my hotel.
I looked up as a very, very old, kind lady got out of her seat and came to sit down by me. In perfect English she said “He understands English just fine, he is just a crazy old mean person. You need to get off the bus in four stops, cross the street, turn left and walk about 30 yards and you will be at the entrance for The Madurodam.” I was so stunned by her kindness that I teared up and said “Thank you SO much, you are very kind.” She smiled the smile of an angel and said “No, not really – most Dutch people are kind and I did not want you to get a bad idea of our country. Also – I knew the answer to your question!”
I thanked her again and followed her directions and entered the most fascinating place I have ever been! It was a Lori Hurst Wonderland! Of course this was well before I was a ‘photographer’ or Digital Cameras and I have all our film photos dumped in a box with the good intention of getting them all digitized – but have yet to do it – so all these photos are from the Internet – I have left the photographers name on them if it was there – but couldn’t help myself! I have Photoshopped each and every one of them to bring out the detail and enlarge them – something is just wrong with me!
Tell me this is not the COOLEST thing you have ever seen:
Schiphol Airport:
I hit this photo while scouring images to select. I do not remember this bridge but thought "Who would have thought as I crossed over it that in years to come that I would cross the real thing many times to get from Sweden to Denmark (the Oresund bridge)?
Then I remembered that the Madurodam is ONLY about The Netherlands and Sweden and Denmark would not count - so I scoured the web and found the Erasmusbrug in Rotterdam:
But tell me - they look a wee bit the same - yes?
Or at least they look quite similar from this angle (this is the only photo of mine in the entire bunch and it is CRAP! The windshield I was photographing through was filthy as we had headed out of Oslo, all the way down Sweden and then hit the bridge with not a single cleaning in between. Just so you know I have a series of going over the bridge which actually at the end goes underground - and I WAS NOT DRIVING!!! My sister was so no taking my life into my own hands to get the shots):
The Netherlands Castle:
St. Johns Basilica in Hertogenbosch:
Sigh ... I loved the place and should find my photos, but I am pretty sure they are crap and want to go over with my new camera and do it right!
I was also rushed since there was NO WAY I was going to take the bus back to the hotel and had to navigate a rather long way through a confusing wooded park - so I did not stay as long as I wanted to. Actually - if I had gone there for five days I would still say I had not stayed as long as I liked.
I spent the next two days taking the automated Tram (yeah, no driver!) to Delft and fell in love with the small city. I loved to walk around Market Square. Here is an old map of Delft - things have not changed much. The pink oval marks Market Square:
An aerial of Market Square (I going somewhere with this - just be patient) The white tent things in the middle are generally not there - it is just cobblestone - I couldn't find a photo without them:
Note the churches on each end? One is called Nieuwe Kirk (even an idiot like me could figure out that was New Church):
And Oude Kirk (you guessed it Old Church):
The Square was beautiful - a panorama:
And had those cute Dutch houses lining it:
City Hall was on the corner:
I spent most my time in this Market Square - one day I did go to where they make the Delft China and took the tour (and of course bought stuff ....) but the Market Square was fascinating.
What I loved about it most was the years that the churches were built:
The NEW church broke ground in 1396 - that just in inconceivable to me!
The OLD church broke ground in 1246!
I loved them and just wandered around taking photos.
Around the corner are the famous canals - so beautiful:
BUT! Also around the corner was a store that sold down pillows! This was where I fell in love with European down pillows and duvets. After my shopping spree - we were trying to figure out how we were going to get it all home ...
But we managed and along with buying out half the store in Copenhagen, Denmark where the store owner knows me and gave me free down travel pillows for being a 'Repeat Customer' and bringing anyone and everyone that visited us to the store - we still use all the pillows purchased at both locations. Also the duvets - and the ones I bought in Norway and still in use - I absolutely love down! It is a luxury that I seem to be unable to live without now ...
I had forgotten that this was where I discovered the luxury of luxury down pillows - I thought that it was Denmark.
I miss The Netherlands - I need to go back, see the place Anne Frank hid and wrote her beautiful diary, visit Delft and all my old haunts there, go take proper photos of The Madurodam - but most importantly - I NEED TO TAKE A TRAIN and make sure they have "Real" toilets now and not just holes and then the tracks .....
